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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833796">The Coast Is Always Changing</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Single Man (2009)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Holidays, Light Idenity Porn, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, different first meeting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:36:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25833796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>George has never met an Englishman with such guff. It's just his luck to do so while on vacation. He might not have left if he'd known this stock of man somehow existed outside of the Americas.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Falconer/Jim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Limited Theatrical Release 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Coast Is Always Changing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/gifts">asuralucier</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy release day, recip! I hope you enjoy. Title is from Maxïmo Park.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>George suspects that he is very much within his ‘it’ phase when misses the lift. He blinks as the doors close the moment he reaches them, weighed down by jet lag as much as his luggage. The wait might do him some good. Give him time enough to settle within the solid ground of ‘he’, at the very least. He presses the button to signal that he'd very much like it to return to him once its journey upwards is complete and is thoroughly surprised when the doors swing open the moment he does. Inside of the carriage stands an adonis. </p><p>It's a shame it hadn’t gone ahead without George after all. He steps inside feeling suitably flustered, now fully settled into ‘George’ and all the anxieties that come with it. His hands come up to press at the bridge of his sunglasses, inching them up his nose. His room is on the fourth floor, the button for which is already illuminated. This man is his neighbour.</p><p>"Good morning," he says. His accent is hard to place. Birmingham?</p><p>"Hello," George returns. </p><p>The man nods to George's luggage. "Here for a holiday?" </p><p>"Visting home." George’s smile turns thin and his shrug drips self-depreciation. "So it doesn't much feel like one, but I suppose it is. I live overseas now."</p><p>"Oh?" </p><p>"California."</p><p>"How exotic!" </p><p>George laughs. "I suppose. Have you ever been?"</p><p>The man's smile goes strange just as the lift dings and its doors open. He waves for George to exit first, which he does. It's a long walk to the door to his room, desperately aware of the man at his back. Once he arrives at his door, George dares to look back down the hallway to where the man’s ended up. He’s stopped at the door directly to the left of George's own, and their eyes meet, his own already cast George’s way. True neighbours. </p><p>"See you around," George says, feeling bold. The man's already gotten his door open, one foot inside. </p><p>"I'll hold you to that." He winks at George as he steps through the threshold and closes the door behind him. </p><p>*</p><p>George is in the men's of the hotel bar. Last call is hovering around the edge of the hour and George knows that he should retire for the night, yet the bitter reunion he’s had with his father earlier that night still lingers on his tongue, no matter how much he's tried to burn it off with alcohol. </p><p>This war. Only his father could turn their almost exclusive agreement on how it is being fought, what is at stake, the duty all that is owed, and yet still turn it into a row between them that has George regretting the entire trip. </p><p>One more, he thinks. One more and then it's off to bed with him. He's scheduled to meet with friends tomorrow in what is sure to be another spectacle to serve as a reminder of why he'd fucked off to America in the first place. He takes off his glasses and shoves them into his front pocket, not trusting the unbuttoned-V of the thin shirt he’s wearing.</p><p>The door opens just as George has just finished washing his hands. It's the adonis. Their eyes meet through the reflection of the mirror where George has zoned-out contemplating his lot in life. </p><p>"Oh," the adonis says. "You've got lovely eyes." </p><p>It's possible that George is drunker than he thought. The man sounds almost Scottish now. </p><p>He blinks hard and turns around, back to the counter. His hands are iron grips at the edge, holding him upright. "I rather like yours," George counters. </p><p>"Mine are much better from up close."</p><p>George has never met an Englishman with such guff. It's just his luck to do so while on vacation. He might not have left if he'd known this stock of man somehow existed outside of the Americas. </p><p>He doesn't move until he’s sure of his feet beneath him. It's only a few steps to get in front of the man, the bathroom not being overly large. Geroge stares into his eyes and finds himself getting lost.</p><p>"Well?" the man asks. </p><p>"As advertised," George says, and then kisses him. </p><p>His mouth is wonderful, sweet and chilled from whatever it was he'd been drinking at the bar. He's tender even as he guides Geroge out from the exposed centre of the room and into one of the stalls, catching the latch to lock them inside. </p><p>George ends up with his back to the door and the man undoing the rest of the buttons of his shirt, rucking up his vest underneath to run his fingernails across the skin of Geroge's front. </p><p>"We've both got rooms," George says. It feels like it needs saying. </p><p>"This is so much more fun," the man says, before then dropping down to his knees. </p><p>He sucks George off just like that, trousers around his ankles and shirt pinned at his sides with his elbows. His hand strokes George's flank rhythmically as he takes care of George's cock with his mouth. George has never experienced it before, this stage, worshipful tenderness combined with so base an action. </p><p>He has an out of body experience, knowing with certainty that this man is ruining him for whoever comes next. For potentially very many 'nexts'. </p><p>George is very, very drunk, and he wants to invite this man to America with him. </p><p>George comes down his throat with what feels like an explosion of stars bursting through the hazy, blurred span of his vision, the world around him increasing in saturation. The man's skin is so very golden, the blue button-down he has on matching the same enchanting shade of his eyes. His lips are as red as cherries.</p><p>Nothing has ever looked so good. </p><p>He kisses George, lets George paw at him through his trousers until he seems to decide is enough is enough and undoes the fly, giving entrance inside to George's trembling grip to pull out his cock. George drops to his knees, ready to receive Communion. </p><p>*</p><p>George wakes up early the next morning, beyond even his most base ‘it’ self. He is not sure why he is awake at all, neurons whirring until two finally manage to connect. </p><p>He feels like death incarnate, yet his entire being has remembered that he wanted to catch the man next door first thing, before he's gone on whatever adventure he's planned for this holiday of his. </p><p>George wishes to invite him to meet George's friends. He wants to skip out on his friends to spend the whole day with him. Contact the airline to see if George can get this man a seat next to his, offer to pay for a holiday overseas while he tries to find the right moment to offer him a spot on George’s lease. </p><p>Perhaps even find a window in there somewhere to ask for his name. </p><p>George sets up shop next to the inside of his door, listening for noise in the hallway. He's groomed and dressed, waiting to conveniently exit at the same time as his neighbour, recreating the chance encounters they’ve had twice prior.</p><p>It takes an age, but he finally feels the reverberations of the door opening. He opens his own to find -</p><p>The cleaning woman's cart outside of the man’s room. She startles at the force he uses to expel himself from his room. </p><p>"Good morning," she says. "Were you checking out early as well?"</p><p>He's missed his chance. </p><p>*</p><p>There isn't even standing room to be found, not even in the corners where the smoke congregates so badly that breathing isn’t guaranteed. George collects his bottle and packet of Lucky Strikes and turns right back the way he'd come in. He spills out of the door, side-stepping a couple eager to take whatever space they assume he's left, the poor misguided sods. </p><p>There's enough room outside to stand without bumping elbows, at least, although George doesn't like the look of the sky. Time enough for one cigarette, he thinks, and lights up, enjoying the rough breeze coming off the sea. He scans all the boys milling out front, each of them looking fit in the white of their uniforms. One catches his eye, but moves far too quickly for George to get a proper read on before he disappears inside.  </p><p>Should have worn his glasses. </p><p>He feels anxious but can't pin why, exactly. He hadn't seen the man's face. George's eyes dart back to the door. He works his jaw, suddenly agitated. </p><p>The soldier returns, careful and considerate of the idiot who's decided to stand within swinging distance of the door. </p><p>Their eyes meet. It's the adonis from Talacre Beach. </p><p>He's smug as he steps through the crowd to come to stand by George's side. </p><p>"It's too hot in there," he says. His accent is flat, from some corner of America far closer to the shores of California than what whatever it was he was trying to sell in Talcare that George had been smitten enough to buy without question. George is embarrassed he hadn't commented on it then. He isn't sure which it reflects worse on, George, or the man for trying it on in the first place. </p><p>He wonders if he should toss on the American accent he uses to tease his colleagues, just to show that two can play this particular game, but decides the better of it. Geroge doesn’t want to play any sort of game with this man, he finds.</p><p>"Yes it is," George agrees, and offers him a cigarette.</p><p>"I don't smoke," he says. It should be the end of it, a crushing brush-off that George blinks hard at and that will haunt him for the rest of the night, but he continues. "Is this place always so crowded?"</p><p>They talk about nothing. George's body screams at him to do something. To not let opportunity slip through his fingers a second time. What are the odds, meeting like this on either side of the world, both of them having survived annihilation</p><p>The man extends his hand. "I'm Jim," he says. </p><p>"George," he says. "Pleased to meet you, Jim."</p>
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